


The Death of Romance

by tommygirl



Category: Roswell - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fifteen Minute Fic, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/pseuds/tommygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria doesn't think she's asking for much, but a little something would be nice once-and-awhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the latest word challenge at 15minuteficlets (tender) so it ends somewhat abruptly.

_Romance was a dying art_ , she mused as she entered Michael’s filthy apartment. It was starting to smell in there, she realized, as a whiff of something horrible hit her nostrils. Michael was still sitting down, making no effort to greet her or even grunt “hello” in her direction. This was obviously some sort of punishment—in a past life she must’ve laughed at the idea of love and kismet—because here she was, in love with an oversized ape.

“Did you forget I was coming over?”

“Was I supposed to plan a party or something?” he questioned.

She glared at the back of his head and said, “Michael…earth to spaceboy…are you even listening to me?”

“Not really.”

“Why do I bother?”

She expected a biting response, something innately Michael that would make her scream and storm out of the apartment, but he threw her off. He turned to face her and grinned. It was his smile that did in her in. She could be infuriated with him, beyond pissed to the point that she was ready to give up on him entirely, but then he would offer her that rare, tender smile that made her feel…everything.

She sighed, “Michael, you can’t keep doing this to me. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not—I’m not good at this stuff, Maria. You knew that,” he replied. The smile disappeared, making her wonder if it was an hallucination on her part. He reached out for her hand though, totally Un-Michael sort of thing to do, and went on, “I don’t mean to push you away, but sometimes I think it’s best for you.”

“Who died and made you boss of me?”

“It’s obvious you want more than I can give you.”

“If it’s so obvious, why am I not aware of it, huh?” she inquired. She could feel her blood boiling beneath the surface. Michael had a real knack for driving her slightly insane and causing all reason to disperse from her mind. Not that she was much for practicality. That was Liz. No, Maria enjoyed allowing emotions to rule her thinking, being the sort of person who could act impulsively without fear.

That was until Michael came along and she witnessed firsthand what impulsive actions did to those on the sidelines, worrying like mad for someone with such intensity that sometimes it made her sick to her stomach. It seemed that loving Michael and fear went hand-in-hand.

“Maria…”

She crossed her arms, studying him, scrutinizing every freckle and hair, and replied, “We’re never going to be that perfect couple, Michael. It’s not us and I’m okay with that, but I would like _something_.”

“Huh?”

“Occasionally, it would be nice to know that I matter to you, that what we have matters to you. I’m sick of being the one expected to make all the decisions and to fight for us. Just once, couldn’t you fight for me?” she replied. _God_ , she thought, _I sound so wishy-washy._

Michael laughed at her. Not a chuckle, not an amused chortle. An abrasive laugh and he fell back onto his couch with a thud. He flipped on the television and Maria found herself studying his apartment for something to throw at him. Instead she settled for smacking the back of his head and slamming down her bag on his kitchen counter. He could be so damn stubborn, so damn annoying, most of the time.

“I can’t believe you’re going to ignore me,” Maria complained. He still didn’t say anything, engrossed in an episode of _Jerry Springer_. Maria rolled her eyes and said, “Why do you make this so hard, Michael?”

He turned off the television and whipped his head around. His eyes were filled with things that he usually attempted to keep hidden from even her, a glimmer of tenderness and worry and love that she usually only caught a glimpse of late at night when he thought she was asleep. It threw her off her game. She wasn’t expecting that look from him and she felt herself drawn into his impenetrable gaze.

She nodded, as if she finally got it, and said, “I do love you and I don’t want anyone else.”

“I love you too.”

She smiled, moved across the room, and knelt down in front of him. She cupped his face with her hands and said, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Michael Guerin. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

She held out her pinky and grinned mischievously, “Pinky swear.”

He wrapped his own finger around hers and asked, “We’re okay, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, pushing her aside and turning the television on. When he noticed her annoyed gaze, he shrugged, “What? There’s a basketball game on in a few minutes.”

“Michael!”

“What?”

“It’s my night off.”

“Me too.”

“Exactly my point.”

He scratched his chin, “Huh?”

“I don’t want to spend our one night off watching a basketball game.”

“But it’s going to be—“

“No.”

“It’s the playoffs, Maria, and—”

“No.”

“I’ve sat through more than my fair share of chick flicks—“

“That’s different. I want to do something. We just had a moment, Michael. An honest to God moment and you’re going to ruin it with a basketball game.”

_{fin}_


End file.
